


Game On

by sadIittlenerdking



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Flirting, M/M, quentin has no self control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 10:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10897269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadIittlenerdking/pseuds/sadIittlenerdking
Summary: Quentin and Eliot make a bet. Quentin has no self control whatsoever.





	Game On

He’s struggling to reach the cereal on the top shelf of the pantry when a warm presence appears behind him. Heat runs all up and down his back, even though the person is a few inches away from him. Static shoots through the air, and the hair on the back of his neck stands up. “Need help?” Eliot asks, voice soft and gruff and sleep laden.

Quentin inhales, nodding, and Eliot moves forward, until he’s pushing up against his back, and reaching up for the cereal. Quentins eyes close as the warmth washes over him, sweet and summery, as the smell of Eliots woodsy aftershave fills the whole of the pantry. His eyes trail up Eliots arm as it extends past him, breathing quickening as long fingers close around the edge of the box and lift it from the shelf.

“Not that one,” he finds himself murmuring, low and intoxicated, “I don’t like that one.”

Eliot pauses, and he can almost hear the smirk in his voice, “Really? Because you were eating this yesterday, Q,” he lowers his head until his lips graze against Quentins temple, “Are you just being difficult for fun or are there ulterior motives at play?”

Quentin swallows down some air and shrugs, eyes fluttering shut as his shoulders graze up against Eliots chest. “Just feel like, uhm, eating a different cereal. Today.”

He hears a soft chuckle, “Okay, Q,“ and as he opens his eyes, the cereal box is set back on the shelf, and long, lithe fingers are grazing along the edge of the shelf. "Which one is it then?” He asks, cheek pressing into Quentins hair as his index finger runs over the side of a box, “This one?”

His breath hitches as he shakes his head, “No?” He whispers, furrowing his brow as the fingers still in their movements.

“Are you asking me?”

“No?”

Eliots cheeks curve up, pressing into Quentins temple as he smiles, “Still a question, Q.”

Quentin takes a deep breath and turns around, careful and slow to ensure he doesn’t lose the contact or heat of Eliots body. Eliot smirks down at him, and he pushes forward until Quentins back is pressed up against the pantry shelves. Something falls behind them, but Quentin can’t be assed to look or pick it up, because Eliots staring down at him. His gaze is playful but sultry. Hair wet from the shower, and skin shining in the shitty pantry light, because apparently there’s no lighting that can make him look anything less than beautifully predatory.

“Can I help you?” Eliot asks.

“I - you’re the one who pushed me up against the shelves. I should ask you.”

Eliot tilts his head, leaning in until his breath, minty and cool, brushes over Quentins cheeks. “You turned around. I was just trying to get you some cereal,” he breathes.

“I - I,”

“You…?” He noses along Quentins hairline, one hand coming down to slide along his waist. The other stays propped up against the shelf, effectively trapping Quentin in, as fingers dig into his hips.

Quentins eyes flutter closed again, taking deep, lasting breaths as Eliot envelopes everything around him. His own hands come up to gently rest on Eliots hips. He opens his eyes again, swallows as he looks straight into the pretty, pretty brown of Eliots. They look at each other a lot, but he hadn’t realized just how soft the brown is before. Soft caramel coated in milk chocolate. “I …” he trails off, breathing in deep again, “I, uh. I -,” his cheeks burn, and something playful dances in Eliots gaze.

“Tell me,” Eliot murmurs, lips grazing along his cheek bone until they brush up against the shell of Quentins ear, “Do you give up?”

Quentins breath hitches, and for a moment he thinks about arguing, just a moment. But Eliots breath washes over him, the aftershave swarms around him, and fingers dig into his hips with such gentle ferocity that he finds himself nodding. His hands slide up Eliots stomach and chest, digging into the soft fabric of the shirt, and grabbing fistfuls. “Yes,” he says, looking up at him through his eyelashes.

Eliot grins, victorious, and moves around until he can press his lips to Quentins, soft and dangerous. Quentins gasps into his mouth, and Eliot takes the opportunity to run his tongue along the edge of Quentins teeth, edges of his lips curving up against Quentins. His back presses harder into the shelves. Something heavy gets knocked over behind them, and they laugh into the kiss, uncaring. The hand propped up above Quentins head comes down, runs along the front and side of his neck, until Eliots squeezing at the back of it, settling the hairs standing on end, and protecting it from the shelves.

Eliot pulls away, breathing heavy and loud, and Quentins heart takes the opportunity to catch up to itself. Eliots lips are wet and red, and Quentins untangles his fingers from the shirt, slides them up to get lost in Eliots hair.

“I win,” Eliot says, grinning as his eyes fall shut, leaning into the gentle massage.

“I don’t think we expected anything else,” Quentin agrees, smiling soft and content. “You always win.”

Eliot shrugs, rubbing at the nape of Quentins neck, a warm, comforting pressure. “If only you had even a semblance of self control, you’d get to decide tonight festivities.”

Quentin hums, rolling his eyes as he leans into him. “I don’t even care.”

“For now,” Eliot chirps.

Someone clears their throat behind them, and Quentin leans over to find a smirking Margo, hands on her hip, eyebrow perked way up high. She clicks her tongue with a shake of her head, “Oh, Q,” she says, mock sadness, “I thought you were going to stay strong this time.”

Eliot chuckles, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Quentins. “He lasted longer than usual,” he says, mischievous glint to his eye. “But if you don’t mind, Bambi,” a foot kicks out and closes the pantry door, leaving them in darkness but for the sliver of light shining though the crack at the bottom of the door. “We’d appreciate a little privacy.”

A lilting laugh chimes from the other side, “Alright, I know when I’m not wanted!“ And then the muffled sound of clacking heels on tiles carries her away.

Quentin breathes out a soft laugh, "Really?”

“Mm,” Eliot hums, nosing down at the line of Quentins jaw as his lips brush up against the skin there, “Really. I want to claim one of my rewards.”

“In the pantry?”

“What better place than where I claimed my victory?” His smile burns into Quentins skin as a laugh bubbles out of Quentins throat. It quickly dies down as a tongue swipes against him, and the hairs on the back of his neck are standing tall again.

“I like,” he pauses, breathing hitching as teeth scrape against his neck, “The way you think.”

“I should hope so, because we’re both about to be rewarded.” He pulls back, looks at Quentin through half lidded eyes, “ _Immensely.”_

 


End file.
